


hit me with your killshot, baby

by papercr0wns



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, Other, Pet Names, Shooting Guns, YES the title is a sort of a pun and im so sorry about it, but like... homoerotically, canon-typical nureyev being a simp, no beta but i did bonk this through grammarly, uhh oh god oh fuck i didn't prepare for this um, yeah there's a lot of that oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 08:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercr0wns/pseuds/papercr0wns
Summary: “You’re still a far better shot than me either way. I’m afraid marksmanship has never really been a skill in my wheelhouse.”“Yeah, right,” Juno snorts, “as if there’s anything that’s not in your wheelhouse at least a little.” Nureyev hums noncommittally, and Juno twists around in his arms so he can look him in the eye.“I mean, you can shoot a gun, right?” Nureyev pointedly glances away in another complete non-answer. He can feel the way Juno furrows his brow without looking at him.“Babe,” Juno prompts, stepping fully out of Nureyev’s hold, “Seriously.”or, shooting lessons but gayer (i am So Sorry)
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 18
Kudos: 104





	hit me with your killshot, baby

**Author's Note:**

> listen i,,, my best friend was like 'oh to have someone tenderly teach me how to shoot a gun' and i was like yeah ahhah and then i Thought about it kind of a lot??? also this was literally supposed to be fluff and fluff alone but then i listened to mitski while i was writing it and something happened idk. also yes i know that nureyev has shot a blaster in canon and was fine at it but that sign isn't for me because I Can't Read <3
> 
> anyways ilysm for being here please enjoy mwah mwah <3
> 
> CWs for consistent mentions of guns (blasters?)/gun use (this is done safely and in a shooting range)
> 
> title from "killshot" by madalena bay which is an absolute BANGER btw

There’s something deeply beautiful about the way Juno handles a gun, Nureyev thinks. There’s a certain kind of elegance in it; in the way he tilts his head as he finds the right angle for a difficult shot, in the way his lashes flutter each time the blaster kicks with the force of a fired bolt. In the way he goes almost unnaturally still before wheeling around in an arc, hitting one, two- _four_ targets with deadly precision in seconds. 

Nureyev waits until Juno relaxes his shoulders and lowers the smoking end of his blaster before approaching him.

“Impressive work, darling,” he says as he loops his arms around Juno’s waist, dropping his chin onto Juno’s shoulder. Juno leans back against him a bit, and Nureyev presses a kiss to the side of his neck, reveling in the lingering scent of blaster-fire that sticks to his skin.

“It’s still not half as good as I used to be,” Juno says, then shakes himself a bit, “But it’s better than last month, and a hell of a lot better than last year. So.”

He’s getting better at that- checking himself. Nureyev is disgustingly proud of him.

“You’re still a far better shot than me either way. I’m afraid marksmanship has never really been a skill in my wheelhouse.” 

“Yeah, right,” Juno snorts, “as if there’s anything that’s _not_ in your wheelhouse at least a little.” Nureyev hums noncommittally, and Juno twists around in his arms so he can look him in the eye.  
“I mean, you _can_ shoot a gun, right?” Nureyev pointedly glances away in another complete non-answer. He can feel the way Juno furrows his brow without looking at him.

 _“Babe,”_ Juno prompts, stepping fully out of Nureyev’s hold, “Seriously.”

“I _can,”_ Nureyev replies, sounding a bit more petulant than he’d intended, “Passably. And preferably at close range.” Juno still doesn’t look convinced, which he supposes is fair, considering the extent to which he tends to unconsciously downplay his competency. 

Juno flips his blaster around in hand so he’s holding the barrel, and holds it out to Nureyev. “Lemme see.”

Nureyev scoffs. “I’d really rather not, dear, as I said I-”

“You said you can shoot right?” Juno cuts him off, and Nureyev barely resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, but-”

“Then shoot,” Juno says, tone firm, but not unkind, and shook the blaster until Nureyev took it. The weight of it in his hands is an odd, unfamiliar thing. He’d call it unpleasant if it weren’t for the ghost of Juno’s hands still warming the grip. 

Nureyev tries to ignore the feeling of Juno’s eyes on him as he picks the nearest target, lines up the sights, and fires. The shot blows wide and leaves a smoking patch on the third line out from the target’s center. Nureyev tries not to show it, but the failure stings.

“Hey, that’s not _that_ bad,” Juno says, appearing at his side, “You said passable and that’s passable.”

“Yes, well,” Nureyev huffs, passing the blaster back to Juno, “it’s... embarrassing.” 

Juno gives him a look, tilting his head. “Why’s it embarrassing?” 

“Because I’m almost definitely the worst shot on this crew, for one.”

“I mean, I couldn’t even hit the target until like two months ago. And you’re good at other shit either way.” Something in Juno’s expression shifts, and he pauses. When he starts again, his tone is a little softer than before. “And it’s not like you have to be perfect at everything.” 

“I _know_ _,_ I just-” Nureyev sighs heavily, “I don’t particularly like not being good at things.” Juno smiles and bites back a laugh.

“Don’t _laugh_ at me, Juno.”

“I’m- sorry, sorry, I’m not. Let’s, uh-” Juno presses the grip of the blaster back into Nureyev’s hand, “Let’s workshop it, then.”

 _“Workshop it?"_ Nureyev repeats, incredulous. “I’m not sure there’s much to be done about my shoddy aim, darling.”

“Yeah, well, say that after I help, okay?” Juno gestures towards Nureyev’s hands still wrapped loosely around the blaster. “Can I?”

Nureyev nods, and Juno circles behind him, wrapping his hands around Nureyev’s and hooking his chin over Nureyev’s shoulder. He must be pressed up on his tiptoes to do it, but the effect of the hold isn’t lessened, and Nureyev’s heart skips.

“Move your hand up here,” Juno says, guiding Nureyev’s hand along the cool metal of the blaster. “You want your thumbs to sit a little farther up, right over each other, yeah- good.” Juno’s hands are warm and calloused, steady and sure against Nureyev’s.

Juno squeezes Nureyev’s hands a bit. “Grip a little tighter, it’s gonna kick you.” Nureyev readjusts his hold on the blaster and tries to pretend his stomach doesn’t flutter when Juno lightly rubs a thumb over the back of his hand before letting go.

Juno settles one hand at his waist and the other at his elbow, pulling it down. 

“Now relax your shoulders, but keep your arms where they are,” Juno’s voice has dropped low enough that Nureyev feels the words breathed against his jaw more than he hears them. 

“Deep breath in,” he drops his other hand to Nureyev’s waist, letting his palms raise with the motion of Nureyev’s even inhale.  
There’s an extended, tense moment as Juno tilts his head so his cheek is pressed to the side of Nureyev’s neck, lashes fluttering against his skin.

“Fire,” Juno whispers, and Nureyev does without thinking. The bolt lands in the dead center of the target in a perfect bullseye. 

Juno hugs Nureyev’s waist tightly, then spins him around so they’re facing each other. Nureyev takes one look at him- catalogs his genuine, lopsided smile and the sharp, triumphant glimmer in his eye- tugs him forward by the front of his shirt, and kisses him without thinking. Juno makes a startled sound against his lips and pulls away almost immediately.

“Woah, down, boy,” he jokes, “You’re still holding a loaded weapon, babe, hold on.” Pouting a bit, Nureyev passes Juno the blaster, and he steps away to place it back into one of the racks on the walls. Nureyev feels his absence a bit more acutely than he usually would. He suspects it’s because, whether he knows it or not, Juno has just done something that Nureyev doesn’t think anyone else has done for him in recent memory, or, quite possibly, _ever._ He’d seen one of Nureyev’s shortcomings, and rather than treating it as a stain on him as a person, had elected to _help_ him with it, as if it were as simple and reflexive a thing as breathing. It makes Nureyev want to kiss him senseless. 

Luckily, Juno doesn’t seem to have much of a problem with that idea and beckons Nureyev over to the crate he’s hopped up to sit on. 

Juno loops his arms around Nureyev’s neck and kisses him with the same gentle precision he’d used to coax Nureyev’s hands into place around the blaster’s grip. He starts to pull away and Nureyev draws him back in, cradling his jaw. Juno melts into him with a soft, pleased sound, and Nureyev thinks there’s something in it that’s heady enough to get drunk on.

When they finally separate, Juno drops his arms to rest on the small of Nureyev’s back and breathes, _“Christ .”_

“I mean, if that’s what I get every time I help you with something then I gotta do it more often,” he continues, half-smiling. Nureyev traces a line along the ridge of Juno’s spine just to see him shiver with it.

“Would you believe me if I said that your help managed to be just that distracting?” 

Juno’s lips, tinted pinkish with the remnants of Nureyev’s lipstick, twitch up in a barely suppressed smirk. “Would you believe me if I said that that was like, at least half of the plan?” 

_“ Juno,"_ Nureyev gasps, faux-scandalized, “I come to you asking for help with one of my few shortcomings and you deign to _distract_ me with your lovely voice and feminine wiles? How _dare?_ _”_

“...Battlefield conditions?” 

“Oh, ‘battlefield conditions,’ he says-” Nureyev scoffs, bumping their foreheads together, “why, I never-”

“Oh my God, all right, _enough,_ ” Juno interjects, laughing, “I promise not to distract you with my, fuck, what did you say?”

“Your feminine wiles, love.” Juno shakes his head in fond exasperation.

“Yeah, yeah, my _‘feminine wiles’_ , or whatever. Okay?”

“Okay,” Nureyev agrees, then sobers. He drops his gaze to Juno’s hand, which had become intertwined with Nureyev’s own during the course of their conversation. He ghosts his thumb across the back of it in a perfect mirror of Juno’s earlier action. 

“Thank you for helping me, darling.” The tone of it is too heavy for him to be referring to something as simple as a correction of his aim, and, if the way Juno shifts to hold his hand more tightly is any indication, he picks up on the gravity of the statement.

Juno stretches up to press a feather-light kiss to Nureyev’s cheek.

“Of course, baby. Anything you need,” Juno says, and Nureyev knows, intrinsically, that he means it. Nureyev kisses him again as if to say _thank you, thank you, thank you,_ and something in the way Juno kisses back says _I know, I know, I know._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so much for reading this trainwreck of a fic i owe you my life. if you leave comments/kudos i will be indebted to you permanently actually it's the law.
> 
> feel free to come hang out with me on tumblr @gently-used-fairytale or discord ( papercrowns #2106 ) if you wanna yell about what demonias my wife juno steel would wear.
> 
> anyways uhh,,, ilsym please drink water and take care of yourself!!!
> 
> -ec <3


End file.
